


Ride

by fictionalthoughts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Choking, F/M, Hints at a blowjob, Mandalorian, Mando/Reader - Freeform, Smut, The Mandolorian/Reader, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 15:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21657142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalthoughts/pseuds/fictionalthoughts
Summary: save fuel and ride a mandalorian*this fic can also be found on my tumblr @fictional-thoughts
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 399





	1. Chapter 1

you’re seated over the mandalorians lap, thighs parted, hair a mess and lips bitten. he’s got all his gear on, belt of weapons, plates of heavy armour, boots and his helmet, he smells of metal and smoke and you smile, wanting to make a joke about his blaster pressing to your thigh but he probably wouldn’t appreciate it as much are you. _is that a gun or are you just happy to see me_?

your hands trail down the cold beskar metal, you imagined what his chest would _really_ feel like, human and soft, etched with scars from battle, an abstract art of his violent history. the hardness of his muscles would tense under your gentle touch. it was all metal and fabric, of masked emotions and the unfeeling blankness that came along with finding yourself entranced with a man who’s face you’ve never seen.

it didn’t feel real just yet.

but he’s got his gloved hands kneading your soft thighs and digging his fingertips into your hips, attempting to flatten your body to his own, close as if you’re going to crumble down to nothing if he doesn’t hold you tight enough. he imagines you’re a new weapon, to be handled with such care — but he can’t wait, it’s all quick and hurried, the mandalorian is desperate that if he doesn’t touch you now you’ll be lost to him forever. it’s uncertainty and lust, driven by greed and his own selfish indulgence.

“come here,” he’d said, his voice manipulated by the mask, twisting the sound to be more deep and smooth. you walked over to him and before you could question he’d pulled you towards him, a swift tug of your wrist and there you were. he had set down his long rifle and relaxed properly into his chair, his normally broad posture forgotten, his shoulders curved to curl his arms round your waist.

you feel him shift, slur a soft groan as he pulls you closer to him, your body and his, made of one, of metal and silk, the beautiful contrast. he’s watching your expressions through the visor, wonders what it would be like to kiss your lips right then, open you and devour all kinds of the sounds you would make, soft and deliciously sinful whimpers and cries of his name. he thinks of you and how your body reacts to his, so soft, tangled with longing and god he’s already half hard, he knows you can feel him under you.

the mandalorians gotten more sure of himself, and moves you to his right thigh with his large hands gripped on the sides of your waist. he’s pulling off his gloves and striping you of your shirt, “_there_,” he grunts, his voice catches in his throat as the helmet tilts, and you know he’s got his eyes drawn down to your décolletage, goosebumps follow his grouping touch and you don’t care your shirts gathering dust and wrinkles on the floor of the ship.

“mando…” your heart pounds, a rythm of a thousand drums, you’re watching him unclip and remove plates of his armour with his right hand, first from his forearms then thighs, then finally his shoulder pads, the tough beskar metal gleaming in the darkness as the mandalorian set them beside him, laying them in the darkness he’s sure he won’t think of his oath, for his armour is everything and a constant reminder of his chosen path.

his gloves come off next and you’re arching your back as they slide up your exposed torso, shaping and dragging over your skin.

he’s sliding his hands under your thin chest covering and resisting the urge to tear it from you, to pull the threats till they snap under the pressure. and that’s what it is, hot burning pressure stacking inside him, white hot and tearing his atoms apart.

the mandalorian is captured by your essence, your body in his control, to bend at his will at the suspense of pleasure. the contrast of your naked torso to his fully clothed form is blinding him to all other distractions, your sighs and pink parted lips, half lidded eyes and lovely breaths mixed with whimpers and he’s hot under the mask and can feel his body buzzing with the desperate urge of friction. _please_, he’s yours, all yours to tear apart and break his bones.

“you’re so beautiful,” mando’s voice is gruff, tense with the held back urge to push you to the floor and have you right then. but you’re saying his name and he’s finally allowing you to _move_, to push and pull over his thigh, you’re gasping and grinding down, hands gripping the material of his shirt over his broad shoulders. without his armour you can feel through his shirt, and you’ve got such a tight grip you only wish it were his real flesh, yours to delve into, yours to claim.

“oh, _gods_,” you’re choking and already becoming weak, the hot and slickness of your centre is leaking through your body, you’re flushed pink and can feel the dampness soaking between your parted thighs over his. your heads lulling back, the base of your skull resting on the tip of your spine your eyes are closed and he’s doing all the work, guiding the rocking motion with a steady grip of your hips, push and pull, a battle and damaging dance burned together with shifting passion and the desperation of the human urge to just feel _good_.

“please, please, please,” you’re saying, your mind sewn into a hazy daze, all you feel is the mandalorian under you, the bubbling hot lava within your body.

he can feel your heat through his clothes, it’s killing him, his chest is heaving and he’s sure he’s going to come if you so much as moan his name one more damn time. “this what you want?” in a lunging movement he’s got your ass under his arms and he’s lifting you, moving his thigh closer and flexing before pushing you back down and roughly jerking you downwards and closer to him, handfuls of your ass in both bare hands. it’s fast, a bullet shot out the barrel of a gun, straight through the target. you buckle over and cry out, the flood of fresh arousal has nearly kicked you over the steep edge, with your body leaned on his shoulder and hands loosely gripping his, your forehead tucked where his neck would meet his collarbone and shoulder, the metal is cooling against your slicked skin. “just like that,” his deep voice is so close to your ear you utter a soft whimper and in return he’s squeezing the soft skin of your thighs as your still riding his thigh, using him to tug your orgasm closer and closer with each thrust.

“mando, please,” it’s all you can do but beg, to hold him close, to break the helmet from his form and kiss him so forcefully. before you know what you’re doing you’ve got your hands sliding towards the sides of the helmet and he only just catches you, one hand on your own you pause and close your eyes, he’s stopped his movements and you’re sure you’ve ruined it. your body’s heavy on his thigh and alight with excitement and warmth.

“you know i can’t,” he’s breathing hard, and he knows, he _knows_ all you want is to see him, to put a face over the actions of pleasure in place of your bitter imagination. it’s tearing him both ways but its never going to change. his way is shall never be compromised. you’re still on top of him, your hand under his left one, so small compared to his own. he’s quiet and you’re trying to pull words together, all you can do is grip his hand and guide it towards your chest, you press his palm flat over your beating heart and stare into where you think his eyes are. he’s lost in the sight of you so close, so intimate, close, melted down like gold and silver, shaped into weapons and used for destruction. you know you’ll never remove the helmet, gaze properly into his eyes, what colour are they? would they shine in the sunlight or be dull and portray more emotions than a thousand sad songs?

“it’s okay,” you’re sliding his hand upwards, past your collarbones and over the curve of your neck, the mandalorian is allowing you to guide him, he’s watching, intrigued, absorbed in the desperatly lustful image of you so close to him, so warm and wet over his thigh, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed, you’re an art form of sin and longing. he’s wondering if he deserves such a masterpiece. “i just need you to distract me,” your voice soft.

with his free hand he’s pulled your hips over him once more, shifting you once again, on the brink of reclaiming your release, to have you fall apart over him, drop like deadweight into his arms, shivering and spent. you moan and he’s got that tight feeling at the pit of his stomach, a flipping dance of warmth and the beating wings of ravens wings. you’re grinding down once again, sliding in your slickness and relishing within the darkness of your arousal. _distract me_.

you’ve got his hand in yours and he’s not sure where it’s going but when it’s closed around your throat the mandalorian is sure the fire inside him is nearly going to rip him to shreds and burn his bones, rid him of all humanity and purge only the sinful. _gods_, you’re a masterpiece, ridden with contemporary beauty and he just wants a taste.

he groans, drunk on emotions and longing. with his large hand around your throat he temps a squeeze, his thumb resting on your jaw and fingertips dug into the sides of your neck, stripping you of sweet oxygen you’re a whimpering mess, slick and sore with aching muscles you’re so close to pure ragged bliss.

you’re gasping and gripping his wrist like a vice with one hand while the other is keeping you steady on his shoulder, your backs curved in a beautiful grotesque arch that the angles dream to rest on. the pants of air leaving your pink lips mix with moans and cries and you’re so close he’s got such a tight grip around your throat it’s a high, a drug, heroin lugging through your veins but it’s only him. the mandalorian can tell you’re close and his chest is heaving with the combined real-life art piece of your body and his, your soaked cunt grinding down on him, red lips parted as you gasp for air he’s got you so close he can feel your heat.

_“come on,” _he’s rough and demanding now, dragging your hips over his thigh with his left hand on the small of your back and feels how hot your skin is under his own. you’re shrill and he feels your nails dig into the skin of his wrist, cutting small shards of pain there and it’s good, it’s so good he’s going to pass out and you’re the one receiving the pleasure. you say his name through a repeating prayer and tense as the white hot coil is taunt inside you. he’s released the grip on your throat as you go slack over him, thighs trembling and warmth spreading through your body, it’s violent and heated in the depths of your soul, his hands guide you down from your high, lost in the stars of the galaxy you’re certain you’ve never felt so _good._

you’re gasping for air and feel the mandalorians fingers slip from your neck to glide over the side of your face, smooth the blurring tears that threatened to spill over your cheeks. _she’s okay,_ he knows it, overwhelmed and spent she’s a broken mess of leftover arousal from her unexpected orgasm. the mandalorian pulls you to sink properly over both his thighs. he’s quiet and fixes the straps of your chest covering, he hadn’t ripped it after all. you brush the hair from your face and shakily straighten up, your thighs are burning and sore, parted over his, your sensitive core to his. he’s speaking soft words and you only want to kiss him. but for now you’re thankful of what he’s given you.

“gods i made a mess,” you’re sheepishly shy now, looking down at the dampness of materials and mando exhales through a tired smile, his adoration of you only growing as you turned into a blushing catastrophe. “‘m sorry,”

“you’re perfect,” he’s only telling you the truth and it’s hard but you’re so worth it. he’s still got his hands on her, fingers turning in soft circles over her skin. he’s staring into your eyes and watches your expression slowly change.

you shove his hands away and slip from his lap, run your hands up and over the tops of his thighs, he shivers with your touch and you inch closer until your perched between them on your knees. he’s looming over you and you bask in the feeling of being small. with carefulness you drag your hands back, letting your nails draw lines down his powerful thighs. “you’re so good to me,” you’re saying, looking up at the speechless mandalorian, fighting down the urge to take you right there. he’s tense and feels his fists tighten as your nimble hands crawl to his belt, tugging at the ties. he’s surpressing a moan as you lean closer and look up at him, right at his eyes under the visor. _“i think it’s time i repaid the pleasure.”_


	2. Returned Pleasures

his hearts going to break through the confines of his ribs, beating erratically the mandalorian is watching her tuck herself between his thighs on her knees, peering up at him through his visor she’s got her hands smoothing over him and tugging on the strings of the leather belt, she’s everywhere and oh fuck is it getting too warm on the ship?

_“I think it’s time I returned the pleasure,” _she’s saying and it’s not registering in his mind, he’s drawn a blank, empty slate as she digs her nails into his legs just above his knees, between the beskar armour that’s getting in the way and why didn’t he take it off before? It’s a pooling mess of excitement and nerves, heavy tugs of arousal sink into the pit of his stomach and he inhales shakily, bare fists clenched, he needs to grip something because her hands are going up further and further and _gods_, his eyes close and he’s uttering the softest of sounds.

she heard him, though. with a smile she’s clambered back onto his lap, plunking herself down he groans and straightens up in his seat as her thigh grazes where he’s so sensitive. the helmet tilts up and he’s looking at her, soft adoration in his eyes. she feels how much he wants her, feels it in how he’s reacting to her touch, how he’s gripping her hips and trying not to twitch under her hand slides between them. “i’m gonna need you to tell me how you’re doing, okay?” she’s so warm and heavy on his lap he’s sure he’s nearly going to die she’s so, so close and oh fuck she’s got her hand on him. he’s biting his lip and looks down at they’re closeness then back to her bright and teasing eyes, she’s watching him and waiting for a reaction. _yeah, yeah,_ the mandalorians nodding and clears his throat, his words stuck with the heated sparks unfurling within him.

“good,” her hand comes away and everything feels empty, his stomach drops and he’s caught in the moment of her sliding between his legs again, pulling her hair from her face she’s on her knees and moving to unclip his armour, she’s pulling lines of bullets and a spare knife from his pocket and he’s embarrassed but she thinks it’s cute. his armours off and her hands are back on his belt, unbuckling the small metal piece she’s halfway there. “_relax,” _she’s softly pushing back his torso with her hand, forcing him back into the chair. the mandalorian is stunned and caught in a daze, she’s beautiful and calm and so so so close to what he wants but she’s teasing, her hands sliding over him she’s got a sly smirk sliding across her lips when she feels just how hard she’s made him.

hotness pools between her legs and she’s sure she’s more turned on than he is at this point, she’s wanted desperately to return what he’s given her and this is the furthest she’s come to it. the belts undone and she’s eager to pull him free and wrap her wet mouth around him. she’s doing just so and he’s _perfectly_ hard and her hands curved around him as her tongues teasing.

the mandalorian is going rigit with the throbbing heaviness of intensifying, mounting pleasure. he’s exploring the idea of how something can feel so _good, _it’s a rush of a thousand stars and earthquakes. he’s got his fingers threaded through her hair and she moans softly, the slicked and heavy warmth of him on her tongue is sending her wreeling and she’s gaining control, stroking with her hand of what she’s not able to push past her wet and swollen lips.

he’s not looking at her, he can’t. he looked once, her eyes closed, cheekbones hallowed and gleaming lips around him he nearly came at the sight. his helmets thrown back, body slouched into himself, tangled up in the whirlwind of ragged breaths and shooting sparks of pleasure. his chest is heaving, white hot it’s a spreading fire, she’s closer and got her soft lips around his cock, he’s achingly hard in her hand and he’s choking on moans but can’t pull together what he needs to just tell her to slow down, she’s going to fast and it’s all too much, the feelings foreign and only for her to destroy him, taste the salty and hardness and bring him to the very edge.

she’s slowing down, breathing through her nose she’s taking him deeper and deeper, whimpering around him as he grips her hair hard enough to hurt a little, filling her ears with caught groans, almost sounding surprised each time, a new wave of pleasure soaks through him — and she adores it; getting herself off she knows she’s soaking again and could only imagine the urges of desperation after she brings him to come. the wetness and stretch of her lips around his cock is only making her more careful she’s _loving this._

the mandalorian clenches his jaw, he’s staring up at the roof of the ship and sees only brightness. she’s sucking harder and her expert hand curls around him, pulling him inches closer, just a few more seconds, to drown in her body, sink into everything she’s got to offer. he’s biting on swears and hears hear ask him how he’s feeling. “want me to keep going?” her hands sliding over him, spreading the wetness and he’s arched, following her moves shes got him so close the edges it’s burning, a teasing promise of longing.

he’s caught in her lingering gaze, the brightness of her eyes have him trapped, damned to admire her stunning beauty and it’s only adding to the building surges of warmth within him. “_please_,” he’s so close and she knows it.

“you’re so sweet,” she’s smiling before leaning closer and he’s thrown back into the mess of electricity, of burning skin and bitten lips. his mind is traveling back to the minutes before when she was curved against him, grinding down on his thigh with her breaths of air so quick and soft — did she feel the same? was it coursing through her veins, keeping her alive as the thick and hot curls of smoke blind them with pleasure? is this how it is supposed to feel? intimate and not, rushed and calm for only a moment before the quickening is back and then it’s a race to the finish? the mandalorian was once innocent in his thoughts of her, he admired her and now he’s sure he would kill for her. the mandalorian only thinks of her, her softness and how she herself tastes on his lips and he’s so hard, it’s ending him, it’s pulling him closer to her and the grip on her hair is strong, he’s guiding her head slowly with his hand, his throat catching on moans, deepens by the helmet everything is different.

she’s pulling back and slowing to take him deeper, wet and hard he’s pushed past her lips and her warm tongues swirled around the sensitive head and he’s a moaning mess above her. “_come for me_,” she’s whispering a deliciously sinful phrase and he’s nodding, under the mask he’s biting his lip so hard, afraid to make the ragged sounds but little does he know she’s only getting wetter as he’s uttering supresssd moans and exhaling shakily.

he’s undone in seconds, it’s the crashing of waves and storms vanished planets, his body tense he’s gritting his teeth, squeezing his fists tightly and shifting under her and shes got her hand on his thigh, grounding him as the mandalorians dropping fast from his high.

it’s hot and heavy, but she’s in love with the taste, thick on her tongue she’s taking him one more time before he’s done. fuck, he’s pulsing in her hand and saying her name in a slur between swears and hidden groans._ “you’re so good.”_

her innocent eyes are raised to his and she’s finished with him, she’s stripped back his innocence and used it for sinful moments only. he’s not complaining. with her thumb he watches her slide it over her bottom lip, catching the drops of his release and he’s almost hard again as she’s sucking it from her thumb. so dammed, so beautiful, all for him.

the fallen and disgraced angel that she is is climbing back onto his lap after he’s shakily pulled himself back together through a foggy daze. his hearts still thumping within his chest and his hands and breaths are a little shaky. she’s thinking how cute he is, fucked out and dazed all under her on tongue she can’t help but pat herself on the back. “well?” she’s curled on top of him and feels his hands slide over her lower back.

“well, _fuck_,”

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is much appreciated!


End file.
